


if night falls in your heart

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29523498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He purses his lips together, thinking. It’s weird—he’s never really had to think about what to say before. He’s never been in love with someone as much as he is with Sam, though, never been so terrified of losing someone so much.
Relationships: Ponk | DropsByPonk/Sam | Awesamdude
Comments: 5
Kudos: 162





	if night falls in your heart

Midnight is long gone when Ponk is launched from his sleep into the stillness of their bedroom by a nightmare. He turns, searching for Sam, but the nightmare persists and Sam is gone, the bedsheets cold on his side. He gives up on the idea of going back to sleep the second time he flips over onto his side, huffing out a sigh into the emptiness.

He finds Sam easily enough. He’s sitting by the window, smoking, one of his legs pulled up to his chest and the other dangling down off the side, long enough for his foot to rest flat on the floor. The window is open, cold air filling the room and clearing out that familiar, thick smell of weed. Though his legs are bare, the leg of his boxers only partially visible, Sam wears one of his heavy oversized hoodie, his body lost in the folds of the fabric as he huddles himself together in the corner.

Ponk moves slowly and takes up the space left on the other side of the window seat, mirroring Sam’s position. He tilts his head, skin sticking to the glass, hair clinging damp like plastic wrap. On the rough surface of the ledge, he stretches his leg out a little further until his bare toes are almost touching Sam’s. He wiggles them, waiting.

Sam takes a drag of his joint, smoke pluming in front of him. He coughs and blows gently, nose twitching as he sniffs. His face is turned to the window.

Unlike Sam, Ponk is only in his boxers. Goose bumps break out over his body, cold air spilling in through the open window. He shivers, teeth chattering, and it’s only then that Sam glances forward, eyes flitting over Ponk’s near-bare body. He shuffles a little in his space, sinking further into his hoodie and making their toes brush up against each other. Whether this is on purpose or by accident, Ponk doesn’t care; it’s the first time Sam has touched him in days.

“You’ll catch your death,” Sam says.

Ponk shrugs and they coexist in their usual silence for a moment longer, the cold pads of Sam’s toes pressing down against the tops of Ponk’s. Sam is back staring out of the window, and Ponk takes the opportunity to catalogue his profile in the glow of the brewing chaos. He must’ve seen him from this angle before, Ponk thinks. There’s no way he hasn’t.

“Sam?”

“What?” he says, perhaps gentler and less clipped than he’d intended.

Ponk thinks about saying sorry, because he is and it’s true, but he’s said it so often over the last week that it’s begun to lose all meaning, feeling hollow in his mouth. He purses his lips together, thinking. It’s weird—he’s never really had to think about what to say before. He’s never been in love with someone as much as he is with Sam, though, never been so terrified of losing someone so much. He opens his mouth, willing words to come out. When they do, it’s rather simple.

“I love you.”

Sam’s body twists suddenly, bending awkwardly to drop his joint into the ashtray on the floor. There’s not much space, but Sam pulls his other leg up onto the ledge, thighs squeezing together to fit comfortable. The further he pulls his knees to his chest, the less Ponk sees of him. He wishes he wouldn’t hide.

“I know,” he says. Sam leans forward, resting his chin in the cradle of his knees. “I love you too.”

The ‘but that isn’t always enough’ hangs thick and heavy in the air between them. Ponk has been waiting for it, fists balled up tightly by his sides every time Sam opens his mouth the speak. He knows it isn’t working out or running smoothly, but that doesn’t mean he wants it to end. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life fighting and making up with Sam, settling into it like the groove of an old pillow.

“You should go back to bed,” Sam says then.

“I’m not Tommy—you can’t tell me what to do,” Ponk responds gently, joking. It seems the easiest thing to do.

A hint of a smile jumps across Sam’s lips, burning Ponk up from the inside. He can’t feel the cold anymore. “Couldn’t if I tried,” he says.

“Damn right,” Ponk says.

Sam goes all fidgety then, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie up over his hands, then pushing them back down, exposing his forearms to the cold. He reaches for the handle of the window and shuts it, face twisting in concentration as his arm bends. Ponk’s head remains plastered to the glass, ear and temple numb with the cold. While he stares, he finds Sam staring right back at him.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Sam asks.

He did, sort of, leaving him in his dream. Ponk shakes his head. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

Sam hums, stretching out one of his legs and resting the heel of his foot on Ponk’s thigh. Without thinking, Ponk rests a hand on it, fingers curling around his ankle and feeling the leathery skin of his scars there as his thumb moves in small, slow circles. There are more, and Ponk thinks he can trace every one of them from memory.

“Are we alright?”

“Like, generally? Cosmically?”

“Don’t you start,” Ponk says.

Sam tilts his head, hollow of his cheek resting on the curve of his knee. He looks so handsome in the gentle glow, hair longer now, looking like some sort of prince Ponk never knew he wanted for the longest time.

Ponk slides his hand up his shin.

“I think so,” Sam answers. “Happy now? You can sleep.”

“Come with me,” Ponk blurts.

Sam pulls his leg back, letting Ponk’s fingertips drag against his skin. The ledge wheezes under his movements, but Ponk stays completely still, waiting and watching, Sam’s shoulders hunching forward as he twists right around, both feet planting on the floor. He’s just staring between them, a wet noise coming from his mouth as though he’s chewing on his cheeks or tongue. Ponk wants nothing more than to slide up to him, rest his head on his shoulder like he always does.

Then Sam turns his head around, eyes squinting in the dark. “Ponk?” he says.

“Yeah?”

Gnawing on the skin of his thumb, Sam hesitates. It is not the only place he gnaws. If Ponk were to kiss him at any given time, his mouth would taste like copper pennies on the tip of his tongue. There’s a permanent damp sheen on the raw ends of his fingertips.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person still afraid of him.”

And that is it, Ponk often reminds himself; if Sam is protecting the world, then who in the world is protecting Sam? Me, he thinks, and gropes hopelessly towards Sam, hooking his head into his chest to hide him from the world. To keep him safe.

Sam’s fingers bruise into his skin, clinging on for dear life.

“You don’t need to be afraid of him,” Ponk tells him. “He’ll have to get through me first. I’ve got you. _I’ve got you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> sam can have his well being prioritised, as a treat. title is from start a riot by BANNERS.


End file.
